


how the having of it quenches

by singmyheart



Series: the evidence of living [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Hair-pulling, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:49:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5768479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singmyheart/pseuds/singmyheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the prospect of staying in, eating a staggering amount of spring rolls, and lapsing into a food coma with him sounds really nice, actually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how the having of it quenches

**Author's Note:**

> sorry not sorry, lin-manuel. a. ham is a total bottom and i'll fight you on this. love your work.
> 
> i'm posting this via mobile so let me know if anything's weird! 
> 
> this story owes a lot to riddelly and audenrain's respective (excellent) college aus. the title is a line from todd boss' "hush of the very good".

eliza schuyler knows her limits. she's never been a particularly reckless person: she knows how long she can go until she needs to rest, how much effort she can put into a given thing before she burns herself out, how to weigh cost vs. benefit. she likes knowing where her hard lines are.

alex hamilton is a force of nature. they meet at the beginning of sophomore year, one of tom jefferson’s famous raging house parties. angelica introduces them, catches eliza staring at him from across the room, and then marches off despite her protests, talks to him for a minute, then grabs his arm and virtually drags him over. “this is alex hamilton. alex hamilton, this is my little sister, eliza. if you hurt her i’ll end your life. have fun, kids.” she presses a smacking, whiskey-scented kiss to eliza’s cheek and disappears.

the conversation that follows charms her: he's nervous and a little drunk, but then, she is too. he talks a _lot_ , and in paragraphs; eliza gets the sense he's always thinking of what to say before he says it. he listens to her, too, though, doesn't interrupt like so many guys their age seem to do. he's a little pretentious, maybe, but she doesn't mind that so much. they talk, about politics, religion, school, _everything_ , and kind of don't stop talking. night turns into morning and they have breakfast in some shitty diner, burnt coffee and pancakes. alex puts his number in her phone and then puts her in a cab home, leans over the open door to kiss her cheek.

eliza lets herself into the apartment she shares with angelica, takes her shoes off so as not to wake her sister and pads barefoot to angelica’s half-open bedroom door, to find her fast asleep with a very naked tom jefferson _and_ james madison. well, she thinks, looks like we've both got stories to tell later.

after that, she and alex don't date, exactly. they go on dates, sure, to movies, study sessions at her favourite coffee shop near campus, but they're just kind of together. the first time he and tom encounter each other in the kitchen one morning, both in their underwear, is a little awkward, but the goal of getting a pot of coffee started is achieved without any major bloodshed.

alex brings her a cup in bed, strong and black, and they drink it in companionable silence, curled around each other, alex messing around on his phone and eliza content to lie with her head on his shoulder, idly skritching her fingernails through the fine, dark hair on his chest.

autumn rolls on, and he keeps bringing her coffee.

  
-  
one bright, chilly november afternoon he turns up on her doorstep to take her to lunch, cheeks wind-burned under his hat and scarf. he's so busy all the time with class, staying ahead on his readings and harassing his professors, but he always makes time to see her, and every time he sees her he beams like it's the first. it's going to her head a little bit.

“it's fucking freezing,” alex declares once he's inside, already ridding himself of his coat, thermal henley, hoodie, hat, scarf and gloves, “can we order takeout instead?” she's skeptical - his definition of cold is not the same as other people's - but she agrees. the prospect of staying in, eating a staggering amount of spring rolls, and lapsing into a food coma with him sounds really nice, actually. they're alone, for once: angelica’s in lectures all day and then she's headed to james’ for the weekend (“three days of getting incredibly stoned and having many, many orgasms. pray for tom in case i kill him, that beautiful, arrogant bastard”).

they agree on a movie when their food arrives and settle in, eliza on the couch and alex on the floor in front of her, leaning against her leg. he can't seem to sit still, though, he's fidgeting and she should have noticed right away - he gets like this, sometimes. restless, manic, too much espresso and homework and too little sleep. his eyes are bright and alert but he's not paying any attention to the movie, and she can practically see the wheels turning in his head, this close to talking out loud to himself. she shifts above him, pokes him in the ribs with her foot. “hey,” she says, “where'd you go?”

he looks up at her and she can see him starting to form the protest - _i'm right here_ \- but then his expression softens, and he presses a kiss to the side of her knee. "sorry. distracted."

eliza decides to drop it, clears the remainder of the takeout from the coffee table to put in the fridge. she comes back to the couch and he leans his head on her knee, practically purring when she gently cards a hand through his hair. he does a very convincing impression of a man paying attention to watching a movie with his girlfriend, for about five minutes. then he's off again, checking his phone, his emails, twitchy and shaking a little from what's probably too much caffeine, shifts against her calf. "alex," she half-laughs, only a little exasperated. he is trying, trying to sit still and relax and stop working, and she might love him.

"i know, fuck, sorry," he murmurs, scrubs a hand over his face and tosses his phone onto the floor facedown with an air of finality. it buzzes not a minute later and she watches him try to ignore it, glance down like he can read the message through the back of it.

and then he reaches for it, and eliza reacts: her hand, which had been still stroking his hair absently, tightens, nails scraping his scalp just a little bit, one quick, sharp tug. she says his name again and his whole body reacts; every part of him goes still. he makes this quiet, choked-off sound and eliza wonders if she hurt him, but she hadn't pulled that hard. she waits a beat to see if he'll say anything, her hand still anchored in his hair. he doesn't, and eliza takes a breath, feels like she's diving headlong into something. she lets her hand fall. “get up,” she says quietly, and he does, no questions, no hesitation. she stands, too, and they face each other, close enough that she can feel his body heat. they're the same height, though alex seems to spend a lot of time making himself look taller, back straight and shoulders square. he's not doing it now, though - in fact, when she looks him in the eye he drops his gaze. she indicates with fingers on his chest and a dip of her chin that he should sit. “go on.” he does, turns and steps back, folds himself into the couch cushions with a surprising grace. he's still not looking her in the eye.

they've talked about this, in the short time they've been sleeping together. he listens to her in bed just as avidly as he does out, encourages her to ask for what she likes, applies himself almost methodically to the task of taking her apart with fingers and tongue. she thinks back to that conversation: “you can tell me what you want,” he'd said. his tone was surprisingly matter-of-fact given that he'd been inside her at the time, chest pressed to her back and fingers ghosting over her clit, breath hot against her neck, thrusts torturously slow. “tell me what to do - fuck - i want you to,” and he was close, starting to lose the languid pace they'd had going, “would you do that for me?” she'd followed him over the edge not long after - _yes, yes, fuck, yes_. they'd had a real discussion about it afterward, limbs spilled together in the shitty twin bed in his dorm, talked about what exactly he'd meant, safewords and limits. she'd sent angelica a snapchat, a photo of the weird water stain on the dorm ceiling captioned _just had the Best!! sex ever._ angelica’s reply came in the form of a photo of three pairs of bare feet in her own bed captioned _hard same_ , followed by the fire, eggplant and thumbs-up emojis. eliza will never be able to look james madison or tom jefferson in the eye ever again.

“you remember your word?” she asks alex now.

his eyes look huge, dark and unreadable, but his mouth hitches up in a smile. he's still not making eye contact, gaze cast downward. “washington. yeah.”

“good,” eliza replies, hardly more than a whisper, smiles back. “lie down.”

and he does, like it's natural, settles himself on his back on the couch like he was just waiting to be told; it kind of makes her head swim. “look at me,” she tells him, straddles his hips, tipping his chin up with a finger.

alex lets out a long breath, and she leans down and kisses him, a warm, familiar slide of lips and tongue. for a while that's all they do; the soft sounds of their mouths meeting again and again feels loud in the small room even with the tv on.

feeling bold, eliza takes both of his hands in hers, lifts and pins them to the arm of the couch above his head. he looks up at her like he's never seen her before. "keep them there, don't move," she says in a rush. she wants to see how far he'll let her take this.

he pulls at her grip, a theatrical little flex and tug, just to see what she'll do. she's not as delicate as some people (never alex, he's never underestimated her) might think; she pushes back, squeezes his wrists a little harder, says his name again. she leans down to kiss him once more, dark hair falling around them both like a curtain. she pulls back to watch his face when she snakes a hand into his hair again and squeezes at the roots, and she's rewarded with a sound like all the air has gone out of his chest, his eyes slipping shut. she rolls her hips down against his, relishes the sweet, diffuse pressure even through his jeans and her own.

he pulls against the hand in his hair, probably on purpose, kisses her like he's thirsty.

she can feel him getting hard against her thigh; drags the fingers of her free hand down his chest and stomach to cup the warm length of his dick through his jeans. his hips hitch up and he groans, catches his lip between his teeth. he's gripping the arm of the couch so hard she can hear the leather protesting. he's being good and she tells him so, kisses him one more time in thanks, bites his lip, smiles at the pleased rumble that draws out of him.

she disentangles herself from him to stand up and strip - he doesn't take his eyes off her the entire time, his gaze follows her panties as she shimmies out of them and kicks them aside. his arm twitches; she knows he wants to touch her, but he's behaving, and the knowledge makes her flush.

she toes off her socks, naked now. far from making her feel exposed, vulnerable, she feels good, hot, powerful. she's so turned on she can feel it, slick at the tops of her thighs.

"give me your hands," she says, and he just _does_ , helps her get where she wants to go until she's on top of him again, this time with her knees on either side of his face. his hands come to rest, feather-light, on her hips like she's something precious, palms warm. she touches his face, runs her thumb along his lip. she doesn't trust her voice not to quaver. “okay?”

"yes," he says, bites her thumb a little playfully, a reassurance _. i'm sure_. she smiles down at him, though it kind of turns into something else when he shifts to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, wet and indulgent.

he sets his mouth to her with that same light touch, maddening, delicate little swipes of his tongue over her core, fingers spanning her ribs. his five o'clock shadow is just rough enough not to tickle, a light scrape just this side of painful and she chases it, grinds down toward his mouth. he makes this obscene sound, like he's encouraging her, even as he ignores her clit, the tease.

she sits back a little, sinks her hand into his hair again, doesn't pull but just holds him there, both of them panting. “oh, come _on_ ,” she breathes. he arches an eyebrow, noses into the thatch of dark hair between her legs and inhales, looks up at her like he's the one waiting.

eliza concedes, rocks forward again and swears she can feel him laugh before he parts his lips and sucks at her like he's deepening a kiss, slips his tongue inside her. a sharp wave of pleasure shoots through her; it's so good but it's not _enough_.

alex’s hand leaves her side and she twists backward (his mouth is incredibly distracting, he's so smart) to see him fumbling with his belt, almost frantically, like she'll stop him. she takes a second to appreciate how incredibly hot that is, the sight of him pushing his hand underneath his waistband to touch himself, before she does stop him. he stills the second her hand finds his wrist. “don't,” she murmurs, “not yet.” he rolls his hips up to meet nothing but air, groans when she adds, “and stop _teasing_ , fuck.”

he hums against her, a concession of his own, and then takes pity, starts licking and sucking at her clit with that firm, steady pressure eliza's been waiting for, and it's perfect. she tugs on his hair again and he seems to take it in stride, letting her put him exactly where she wants.

"fuck, that's good, you're so good," she gasps; she can feel her orgasm starting to coil low in her stomach, building so quickly it almost shocks her. her thighs are shaking, knuckles white; he digs his nails into her hips and she comes, gasping, praise and curses tumbling out of her mouth all the while. “don't stop,” she manages, and he keeps going at her through a second climax, almost painful, rolling waves she feels all the way to her toes.

eliza lets out a long breath, sits back and looks down at him. his mouth is red and a little swollen, chin and jaw wet and shining.

he rests his chin on her thigh for a moment, and they both laugh, panting still. she scoots down, plants her body over his stomach again to kiss the taste of herself out of his mouth, the feeling of his jeans against her damp, naked skin a little weird but not unpleasant.

he swipes a forearm across his mouth, says "hello," in a voice so hoarse, so impossibly warm and fond that eliza can't resist kissing him once more. she pushes up his t-shirt with still-shaking hands, drops kisses across his chest; the tiniest press of her teeth on his nipple makes his dick twitch under her.

she elects to skip the pleasantries. "do you wanna come now?" she asks even as she's moving down, settling between his legs; she yanks his jeans and boxers down around his thighs.

"yeah. please," he answers, nothing clever or teasing in it. he holds her hair out of her face in a gesture so surprisingly gentle, tender, that her chest feels tight. she takes him in her hand and then her mouth, hollows her cheeks a little and sucks him off in quick, tight pulls.

it's not long at all before he chokes out "i'm gonna come," and a second later he does, entire body drawn tight like a bowstring, shaking. eliza swallows what she can, strokes him through the last, twitchy aftershocks. his chest is heaving, and when he gazes down at her the look in his eyes is nothing short of worshipful. "thank you," he says, almost a sigh. eliza's a little surprised - they've never done that before - but pleasantly so. she rests her chin on his hip and spares a second to think about what else he might be willing to thank her for, in the future. or ask her for. 

it sends another shock of desire through her, and she makes her way back up the couch to curl up against his side and kiss him soundly, relish the pleased little sound he makes at encountering the taste of himself on her tongue. "you good?”

"i am excellent," alex assures her, presses his face to her hair. "we look ridiculous right now," he adds as an afterthought, and they kind of do - with eliza naked and alex halfway there, t-shirt rucked up around his chest, pants and boxers shoved down his thighs.

she grins. "shower?"

he makes a noise of agreement and they wend their way to the bathroom slowly, stopping to kiss lazily against doorframes, divesting alex of his clothes. he washes her hair for her, digs his fingertips into her scalp, takes his time gently working loose any tangles (she can kind of see why he's into hair-pulling, it feels _amazing_ and she files that information away for the future); and then he presses her back against the wall of the shower and dips his hand between her legs, lowers his mouth to her breast. eliza comes trapped between the cool wall of the shower and the spray, the insistent heat of his mouth, shuddering; when she gasps his name it echoes off the tile and he smiles against her wet skin.


End file.
